Architects climb the vertical lines with grace
to draw across my worries, silver and black
beams between their fingertips.
Their trapeze costumes match their pencils,
pointed and dropping into skyscraper masses,
blending with their work as the movement
dissolves. I can't decide if here, in this beautiful city,
I am pleased or I am panicked. If I am alone
in this stairwell, or if I know this address
too well to give directions for "away again".
Who hired the architects to bridge the gaps
of each 3 AM nightmare? I paid for the metal
they bend with their teeth.
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